


The Lee

by Heavenly_Bodies



Series: Wizard and Warrior [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Bodies/pseuds/Heavenly_Bodies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>…inexplicable as it was- Merlin didn’t get hurt. So turning to find his dark haired servant collapsed, unmoving on the ground with a hideously grinning man looming over him had sent foul shivers like he’d never known through Arthur’s body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lee

**Author's Note:**

> \- This was originally gonna be my first foray into fandom, it started life as a tiny little frivolous excuse-to-have-Merlin-wrapped-up-in-Arthur’s-cloak!fic, only it then decided it wanted a plot… and wouldn’t stop nagging until I gave it one. Then it grew… and grew… and grew into the monstrosity that it is, lol. (pls note that my avg fic length is 1500-2000 words, so yeah, 13k monstrous)  
> \- I dedicate this to my dearest KyoKohitsuji, who let me drag her into the world of _Merlin_ and readily joined me in rampant worship, then kicked my ass until I turned a half-assed daydream into a real live fic

The roots of the tree gnarled and twisted this way and that, holding the old elm firm above the ground. On one side the earth had worn away with years of erosion and burrowing animals, leaving a large hollow underneath the tree’s roots and trunk.  
It was perfect for Arthur’s needs.  
He slid fluidly from the saddle managing to keep Merlin situated on his horse. The cool forest air hit his chest making him shiver through the layers of cloth and mail he wore, the chill even more invasive without Merlin’s warmth against his chest. Shaking off the cold, he checked his cargo, assuring himself that the young man wasn’t any worse for their journey.  
He still didn’t know what had caused his manservant to crumple as he had; he had ideas, fears, but he didn’t _know_. Certainly, Arthur ribbed him mercilessly about his uselessness in battle, but Merlin had always managed to hold his own, inexplicable as it was- Merlin didn’t get hurt. So turning after dispatching his attacker to find his dark haired servant collapsed, unmoving on the ground with a hideously grinning man looming over him had sent foul shivers like he’d never known through his body. Arthur moved to his servant’s side, sword fluently cutting the air in loose movements as he approached, preparing to strike Merlin’s assailant. The moment Arthur’s sword would have connected with the man, he vanished.  
Sliding to his knees beside the young man, he checked for pulse and breath then patted him down looking for injuries and blood. He found none, not even a welt on Merlin’s considerably thick skull- for that he was both fearful and grateful.  
Arthur looked around at the bodies in the small clearing, taking note with some sadness that the two knights accompanying them on their journey were among the dead. After seeing Merlin’s mysterious attacker vanish before him, he knew he couldn’t wait here for his fool of a manservant to regain consciousness. Unceremoniously, Arthur heaved Merlin onto his saddle. Climbing up behind him and settling the limp man against his chest he turned his horse towards Camelot.  
It had grown dark in the few hours they’d travelled, their pace slowed by the extra weight and the need to keep Merlin in the saddle and not on the forest floor. Through it all Merlin remained unnervingly quiet and still in the saddle, and they were still a day’s ride from Camelot. Arthur had begun looking for a place to camp for the night, when the ancient elm and its leeward hollow came into view.  
Arthur pulled the velvet-red cloak from his shoulders, splaying it out in the hollow underneath the tree, curling it around the sides- a slight protection from the damp earth. Then he eased Merlin’s body off his horse with a muttered, “Such a girl,” as he hefted Merlin’s slight weight and carried him to the tree.  
He laid Merlin down in the centre of the makeshift bedding, his long body curling in on itself to fit the secluded space. Arthur knelt beside Merlin for a moment, brushing his dark hair from his face, silently hoping that he was alright. Morphing his face into one more playful, Arthur chastised Merlin’s prone form, “Stay put, I’m going to get us some food.” It brought a dark wave over him when he didn’t get an impudent response from his manservant. He pulled the cloak up and over Merlin making sure he’d be warm until Arthur could come back with food and lay a fire. He didn’t want to waste what little light remained on building a fire and not be able to catch dinner- not that he couldn’t hunt perfectly well at night, he just didn’t want to leave Merlin alone unprotected in the dark while he hunted; yes, that was all.  
He laughed derisively, “At least you won’t be scaring off all the game,” he ruffled Merlin’s messy hair before turning to the task at hand.

Arthur returned about an hour later to their impromptu camp with two plump looking rabbits, which he tossed towards the lump that was Merlin. Within a few minutes he had a fire fighting for its life as he stoked it intently, warming as the flames rose and lapped at the wood and tinder.  
Once the rabbits were skinned, gutted, and spitted, Arthur turned his attention to the man wrapped in deep hues of Pendragon red. He might never admit it, barely even to himself, but he liked Merlin; his insolence and sharp wit, that ridiculous sunshine smile that seemed to infect everyone around him- well, everyone apart from his father and Arthur suspected that had more to do with his father than Merlin. Yes, he liked Merlin, cared for him- more than he should.  
Arthur scooted over within reaching distance of his friend and pulled the material away from Merlin’s face. Arthur expected a moan, a wrinkle of nose, maybe the tell-tale signs of moistening lips, but Merlin’s body was unnaturally still. If not for the steady, if shallow, rise and fall of Merlin’s chest, Arthur would have feared he’d lost the raven-haired buffoon. Unaware of his own actions his fingers carded through those very locks.

\---

Merlin felt like he’d been grilled alive (not a pleasant thought, considering the king’s love of his kind), his body was numb with a lingering sense of _pain_ everywhere. He only hoped Arthur had fared better, that the spell he’d cast hit its mark before he’d passed out. Speaking of, if he was this conscious shouldn’t he be awake and being mocked by his fair-haired prince? He fought down the initial fear that shot through him, trying to take a deep breath, but unable to control his breathing. At least he was breathing, a slow rhythmic inhale and exhale, and he was warm and not alone; Arthur was with him. He could sense the hand softly moving through his hair and the warmth he was wrapped in that made every nerve in his body scream ‘Arthur’. He didn’t know how he knew it was Arthur, but he did, down to his core just as he knew his magic ran through him. He let the knowledge that Arthur was with him wash over him and calm him, he trusted Arthur with his life and more… he just wasn’t ready for him to know about the ‘more’s, either of them.

\---

Suddenly realizing what his traitorous fingers were doing, Arthur snapped back his hand. Covering his actions as if Merlin or anyone else would ever hear him with a sharp, “Yes, well, you’d best be getting better. I’m going to need my armour cleaned and the horses will need tending, of course, and there’s undoubtedly mending to be done after this little escapade,” Arthur rambled on as he turned the rabbit and stoked the fire. The evening sun had given way to the soft blue-greys of night that slowly melded into the dark near black of the forest floor just an hour or so earlier. Above them the stars shone brightly, the moon a bare sliver, a hint of what was and will be. The silence that came with nightfall was so different than that of the day. At night the silence seemed to grow and curl in on itself like some great beast- half real, half imagined, making everything sharpen into hawk-like focus. But it was more than that, maybe it was being here alone with only Merlin’s soft breath to counterpoint the sounds of the night. Whatever the cause this night was different; he could feel the pulse and hum of the world around them, the power that strummed just under the surface the same way Arthur’s body thrummed during battle, instinct and primal nature joining the trained fluidity in his muscles and mind making him _more_. A sputtering hiss from the fire drew Arthur’s attention back to the rabbit, its juices dripping and sparking in the hot coals. Arthur plucked a dagger from his belt and deftly sliced off a length of meat. He allowed himself to rest against the tree roots he’d huddled Merlin beneath as he ate, “You truly are the _worst_ manservant ever, you can’t even manage to get injured properly.” He continued to talk to Merlin’s still form as he ate, taking small comfort in throwing his insults and barbs at the young man, silently wishing he’d hear his biting sarcasm shot back.

\---

Merlin pushed his thoughts and worries aside and turned his attention back to the darkness he found himself trapped in- the primal fear it instilled still lapping at the edges of his mind, but if there was one thing his time in Camelot and with Arthur had taught him it was how to damper those fears and draw on them when the need arose. He tried to clear his mind, letting his magic reach out as if it were a sense in its own right, no different from touch, sight, or sound. He already knew Arthur was close by and he sought out any other presence. Finding none, he released a mental breath. He allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fight, Arthur’s fluid movements as he countered and parried attack after attack, taking advantage of openings faster than Merlin could register them. It was a beautiful sight. One that on any other day he would have enjoyed admiring on the training fields, but this was real.  
He felt a sudden change in the air, a soft buzz like a dragonfly whisking by his ear. He turned in time to see a figure, clothed in the woodland hues of the forest, and a building tinge of gold in dark cold eyes. In the same way Arthur’s body would tense, his awareness shifting for an attack, Merlin’s instincts took over when he saw the flash of amber. His instincts were followed by darkness.

\---

Arthur had grown quiet, concerned, and disheartened with his companion’s continued silence. Trust Merlin to find a way to infuriate him _while_ being unconscious, the prince thought contemptuously. The autumn chill teased the night with familiar fingers as Arthur expertly banked the fire, trying to ignore the sinking feeling he had when he thought about Merlin. He feared that whoever or whatever had attacked Merlin had done more than render him unconscious.  
He sidled up to his sleeping companion, resting his back partly against the roots of the tree and partly against Merlin’s legs. He’d never admit it, but feeling Merlin next to him, even unconscious and probably spelled, comforted him.

Before long, Arthur’s eyes grew heavy and he let the sound of the night and Merlin’s steady breathing lull him into a soft easy sleep.

\---

He remembered casting a spell, a wall of protection against whatever the dark sorcerer was preparing. Then nothing else until he ‘woke up’ here, trapped inside himself. He could feel Arthur’s weight physically against him now. He could feel the prince’s heat along his bent legs. Slowly, deliberately Merlin reached out with his magic once again. This time he reached for something, someone in particular. He reached out for the one thing he trusted, the safety and love that was Arthur Pendragon. Arthur was so close and so **strong** , Merlin let his magic surround him, wrapping tightly around his familiar presence, pulling himself ever closer to his prince.

\---

The fire was reduced to smouldering coals, a handful still fire red with heat, when Arthur awoke; senses on alert. The sense of _more_ from earlier still permeating the air giving everything around him a preternatural feel, the power seeming to pull him closer to Merlin without ever actually conducting him to move. This was magic, Arthur knew that, but it didn’t feel like any magic he’d felt before; this bade him to come, ensconcing him in friendship and loyalty and something so close to his own feelings he could scarce name it for fear that it would be known.  
The sound of the boney lump he was using for a pillow trying to pull in a shaky rattle of a breath drew his attention from the welcoming magic. “Merlin?” he pushed himself up on a shaky arm to inspect his servant. Pulling the vibrant red cloak from Merlin’s shoulders he rolled him over onto his back, “Merlin, you complete idiot, can you hear me?” he gently slapped his manservant’s face. Relief flooded him as Merlin’s deep blue eyes blinked up at him.

“Arthur,” the young sorcerer gasped and tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness smacking him in the face causing him to rock backwards, only managing to stay upright due to a strong arm gripping him.

Sure hands began patting down Merlin’s body rechecking him for any outward injuries now that his unwilling patient was awake enough to react if he stroked over sore or sensitive flesh.

Impatiently, Merlin batted at Arthur’s roaming hands, “Arthur, do you have to…” he tried to wriggle away, “…would you please…” it was hard to keep the annoyed whine out of his voice, “…stop!”

“WHAT!” the prince snapped. Shrugging in exasperation, Arthur explained, “Merlin, you are exactly the kind of fool to get injured and die on me out of spite, now shut up and let me make certain you won’t get that chance.”

Merlin’s retort died on his lips as he realized that Arthur was actually worried about him. Instead, he settled for an indignant huff and let the prince continue poking and prodding him.  
“Satisfied?” Merlin asked when Arthur was finished.

“Not by half, I still want to know what that sorcerer did to you,” Arthur answered truthfully.

“Sorcerer?” Merlin asked nervously.

“Yes, a man was standing over you, when reached you he vanished.” Arthur didn’t like the feeling of fear-anger-defeat that swept through him remembering the encounter, still feeling that he had somehow let Merlin down.

“Arthur, I promise, I’m not about to drop dead- to spite you or otherwise,” his manservant tried to assure him.

Arthur smiled at his servant’s insolence, “Good to know your lack of appreciation for the crown hasn’t been affected.” It was only due to long years of being trained to be passive in his show of emotions that Arthur’s expression kept his true feelings at bay. Inside, Arthur was crowing with relief.  
“Do you think you could manage to get the fire back up? Or is that too much for your addled brain?”

“Oh, I can handle the fire,” he replied, cocky as ever.

“Good,” he stood a little straighter reasserting his princely arrogance, “see that it’s ready when I get back.”

Merlin didn’t answer, turning his back on the prince to gather fresh kindling.

Arthur’s shoulders slumped slightly as he huffed and shook his head, why had he missed this again?

Merlin made quick work of rebuilding the fire, giving the dew dampened wood a little push of magic.

\---

He was immersed in darkness again, the same cold solitude from before, the same emptiness filling him. His magic reached out instinctively searching for the comfort of Arthur. Merlin tried to control it, to reel it back in to himself. He couldn’t afford for Arthur to discover his magic this way, when he was unable to so much as speak in his defense- not that it would help; he knew both Arthur and Camelot had seen too much of the detriments of magic to be able to see beyond the title ‘sorcerer’, let alone to see Merlin.  
Somehow Merlin calmed himself, reining his magic tightly to him, hoping that Arthur would return soon, and he would be able to find the comfort he had before.

\---

“Merlin, do you have that fire…” the blond stopped short, dropping the water skins he’d been carrying to rush to Merlin’s collapsed body.  
“Damn you, Merlin,” he hissed as he once again checked the young man for breath. He was beginning to fear Merlin truly did suffer some mental affliction. He remembered years ago one of the stable boys falling ill, first his body would be wracked with uncontrollable tremours followed by loss of consciousness. Arthur had been in the Hall when Gaius had explained the boy’s affliction to his father. He didn’t understand most of what Gaius had said in his somber way, a ‘disease of the mind and body’ he’d called it; Arthur never saw the boy again, in the stables or Camelot itself.

\---

Merlin felt familiar hands roaming his body, sure and strong easing him into a more comfortable position. _Arthur_. Once again his body, his magic recognized the young man. He reached out blindly towards Arthur’s touch, wrapping his magic around Arthur’s comforting presence, letting it guide him with its warmth and bare emotion.

Another ragged breath stuttered out of Merlin as he swam towards consciousness.

Arthur started when the earlier feel of magic returned, pulling him towards the young man at his side. This time listening to the urge to get closer to Merlin, he reached out and brushed a lock of dark hair out of his face. He shot back as Merlin pulled in another shaky breath, all but screaming, “MERLIN! You inso… idi…” Arthur searched for a word that would express his feelings on the matter, finally settling on a royal, “pain in my arse!” Nevertheless the prince helped Merlin to sit, only giving the young man a cursory pat down to make certain nothing had changed in the few minutes he’d left to fetch water. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin answered honestly. “I was just putting on fresh kindling and…” he stopped short, thinking about the tiny push of magic he’d sent out to dry the bits and twigs he’d gathered, “uh, next thing I knew… was nothing.”

“There must have been something, Merlin. Even you don’t just collapse at the first sign of work.”

The young sorcerer shrugged and began poking the fire, more out of something to do than actually trying to stoke it.

Arthur moved to sit closer to his servant, “Seriously, Merlin. Was there anything? Anything at all? Headache? Dizziness?”

Merlin steadily shook his head at each new possibility Arthur proffered, it wasn’t as if he could say, ‘Actually Arthur, it was after I tried to use my magic to help with the fire.’ Or at least, not if he wanted to make it back to Camelot alive and not destined for the executioner.

Arthur rolled his eyes, adding a final, “Wood nymphs?” to his questioning.

That brought Merlin up short and he turned to his prince with a smile on his lips, “Wood nymphs, Arthur, really?”

The prince shrugged playfully, “Nothing else seemed to be striking a cord.”

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head fondly and returning his attention to the fire.

\---

Night had just fallen when they reached Camelot, the air cool and welcoming. Even being the same air as from the other side of the town gate, both Arthur and Merlin breathed in deeply, finally home. Tired from the day’s ride and the emotional turbulence of the previous night the pair were glad for the quiet peace of familiar, empty streets.

Merlin watched as Arthur slid effortlessly from his horse and took the reins without a second thought.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Go to bed,” he instructed, clapping his manservant on the shoulder.

Merlin smiled at his prince, “But what about…”

The prince raised the finger of one heavy leather gauntlet forestalling any further words from Merlin, “No, bed. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Arthur,” a faint blush tingeing his cheeks at Arthur’s open care for him.

Remembering himself, Arthur added for prattish appearance, “Good, don’t want you walking around half asleep tomorrow.”

Trying to mask his chuckle and failing, Merlin replied dutifully, “Yes, Arthur.”

He watched Arthur stroll away, towards the castle and his rooms. Merlin knew he wouldn’t follow Arthur’s ‘order’, he would make quick work of tending Arthur’s horse and then stop by the kitchens to see if he could find some bit of food for the prince and bring him a basin of warm water to wash with.

Merlin eased the door to the Prince’s chambers open, smiling warmly at the sight that greeted him. Arthur was seated at the small table in his rooms, gloves and bracers removed, head back stretching the long line of his neck as he breathed in slow tired breaths. Closing the door, Merlin crept quietly up to Arthur’s side. Laying the small plate of fruit and cheese on the table and the basin of water on the floor, he moved to Arthur’s right side and began unbuckling his pauldron.

“Merlin, I told you,” he spoke sleepily without opening his eyes.

“Yes, Sire, but you needed me.” He didn’t care that it made the prince uncomfortable, it was the truth. Arthur needed Merlin right now, maybe not to protect him, but he still needed him, and in truth Merlin liked helping Arthur with these trivial things, the simple things that no one thought of, those were the ones that truly mattered.

“Merlin,” Arthur began to protest.

“I’m here now; you may as well let me do my job.”

Arthur finally opened his eyes and turned his head towards Merlin, a look of confused disbelief showing through the tiredness. “You decide _now_ that you want to do your job?” he asked incredulously.

“Arthur, I always do my job, it’s just you’re too puffed up to notice.”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth in fish-like confusion, “You just insulted me again.”

“Mmm,” Merlin offered non-committally, manhandling his prince to reach the next set of buckles.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Merlin.” He grabbed a handful of grapes with his left hand. “One minute you’re the utmost in incompetent, useless, and insolent servants _ever_ , then you do this?”

Behind him, Merlin snorted softly and shook his head. “You’d get bored with me if I wasn’t.”

“Hmm, a quiet servant who didn’t talk back, or dare to insult the Crown Prince, and got his work done in a timely fashion,” Arthur pretended to think this over, popping grapes into his mouth as he ‘thought’.

Merlin slid the pauldron from Arthur’s shoulder and set to work on the gorget.

Sighing heavily, “I hate to say it, Merlin, but you may be right about that.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head,” the young man promised playfully, unbuckling the last belt from Arthur’s chest.

Just as he was about to move to place the armour on the far cabinet, Arthur’s hand gripped Merlin’s arm. For a moment fear shot through Merlin, still agitated from the past day and a half, but it quickly passed upon seeing the clear blue eyes of his prince.

“I can manage, Merlin,” he said, smiling softly. “You need rest, we still don’t know what that sorcerer did to you and we’ll figure it out quicker if we’re _both_ rested. So go, sleep,” he clutched and patted Merlin’s skinny arm. “You can fuss over me in the morning, assuming you’re still of a mind to do your duties,” he teased.

“Arthur?”

“Go,” he ordered.

Merlin moved the basin of water next to the bed, “’night, Arthur.”

The blond waved a hand lazily in Merlin’s direction, only speaking once the door had shut behind him, “Goodnight, Merlin. Sleep well.”

\---

The morning came quickly; Arthur felt he’d barely lain his head on his pillow before the morning sun was swooping into his room. He stretched rolling his head and shoulders letting the night’s kinks work their way out. “Merlin?” he called, not really expecting his manservant to be there, but hoping nonetheless. Shrugging, he climbed out of bed and headed for his wardrobe. He could forgive Merlin’s tardiness today; he himself could’ve slept well past noon. He would dress and have his breakfast. Then report to his father about their journey and the attack, and if Merlin hadn’t shown his face by then he would go rouse him himself.

\---

Arthur rapped his knuckles on Gaius’ open door, “Gaius?”

“Sire, I was just about to send word to you.”

The prince’s chest tightened, thoughts of the previous morning clamouring in his skull. He peered over Gaius’ shoulder to the bed hoping against hope he wouldn’t see what he was expecting to see. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I wish I knew, Sire,” Gaius admitted sadly.

The prince moved passed Gaius to sit on the stool beside Merlin. “How long has he been like this?”

“A few hours, Sire.” The physician shook his head worriedly, “Did anything… happen, while you were gone? Something that might shed some light on Merlin’s condition?”

Arthur answered offhand, “There was a sorcerer. It was the first time I’ve seen Merlin fall,” he added quietly. “Idiot always managed to stay out of danger before, I suppose it had to happen eventually.”

“Sire, please,” the old man bade him continue.

Sighing, “He was unconscious the entire night, but he awoke in the morning. I left him to tend the fire while I replenished our skins, when I returned he had collapsed again; he came to quickly then. He was fine last I saw him.”

“Hmm,” Gaius replied going around the room gathering texts he hoped would help diagnosing his charge.

As he sat next to Merlin, Arthur felt that strange sense building around him once again, pulling him towards the man beside him. “Don’t worry Merlin we’ll find a way to stop this, cure you,” he assured in soft tones, squeezing his manservant’s shoulder.

A dry, “Arthur,” escaped Merlin’s lips as he blinked open his eyes.

Arthur smiled, “You are such a layabout, Merlin. I send you to bed without even undressing me and you still go collapsing at the first opportunity.”

The young brunet returned the smiled as he croaked, “Obviously, Sire.”

Instantly, Gaius was at Arthur’s side, feeling Merlin’s head for any change in temperature, while grilling his young charge with questions about his collapse.

“Now I bet you don’t mind my prodding so much,” Arthur smirked, laughing outright at the glare Merlin shot him.

“I’m all right, Gaius,” Merlin insisted as he sat up, taking a full, welcome drink.

“He says that a lot, usually right before he collapses again,” Arthur supplied helpfully.

Merlin cocked his head, rolling his eyes with long suffering affection.

“Still, best if I look you over,” the command in Gaius’ voice belayed the soft suggestion of his words.

“Well, I’ll leave him in your capable hands, Gaius.” Turning to Merlin, “When you’ve finished playing around, I’ll be in my chambers.”

As soon as Arthur had gone Gaius went to the door closing and latching it. “What is going on, Merlin?”

“I don’t know, Gaius, honestly. It just keeps happening.”

“I was referring to Arthur,” he corrected, eyebrow arching like some kind of divining rod of truth.

“Wha’d’you mean?” Merlin asked nervously, he wasn’t sure he was ready for where Gaius’ questioning was going.

“I mean that I spend two hours trying everything I can possibly conceive of to wake you and Arthur’s not here for five minutes and you make a sudden recovery.”

Merlin ducked his head looking away from the older man, hoping he could explain without having to admit, outright, his feelings for a certain blond, arrogant, stubborn, and stupidly brave prince. “I don’t know what it is, Gaius, but it’s like I can _feel_ him with my magic.” Merlin gave a self-depreciating half shrug, knowing how hopelessly besotted his words sounded. “It goes right to him and holds on, pulling me closer, then I’m awake again.”

“Very interesting,” an all too knowing warmth to his voice. Gaius gripped Merlin’s shoulder reassuringly, “We’d better get to figuring out what’s going on with you. I doubt we can expect the Prince to be at our beck and call.”

\------

Arthur was getting worried, alright more than worried. Merlin looked _awful_ and his work, which despite Arthur’s continual chiding he actually performed superbly, was steadily getting worse. He was becoming the useless servant Arthur so often accused him of. It had been weeks since the encounter with the sorcerer, but it seemed no one was any nearer an answer, although Merlin’s attacks appeared to have ceased. Still, Merlin’s waning capabilities and the sheer exhaustion he suffered from were enough to tell Arthur things were not as they seemed.  
“Merlin?” Arthur asked as he threw himself casually into one of the ornate chairs in his chambers closest to his servant.

“Sire?”

Arthur cringed internally, it was another thing so wrong with the current situation, the sarcasm and bite to his manservant’s words were all but gone, he actually _sounded_ respectful. “Have you been sleeping?”

The slighter man stiffened momentarily before turning one of his bright flighty smiles on the prince, “Why, do you n…” he trailed off at Arthur’s unamused look, the one that made him look disturbingly like his father.

“I’m worried about you,” he admitted, hedging his words with, “and the state of my armour.”

Merlin simply nodded. He, of all people, knew how badly his work was slipping; without the aid of his magic his duties were becoming excruciating, he had stopped helping Gaius over two weeks ago and he was up until all hours mending and cleaning Arthur’s clothes and armour.

“Merlin, answer me,” the prince demanded gently.

Merlin could feel the blush that crept up his face, “I sleep when I can, Sire.”

“Which isn’t often if I’m any judge. This has something to do with that sorcerer, doesn’t it?”

“Gaius believes so,” he answered hesitantly.

“And you were going to tell me this when exactly?” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and managed to look down his nose at Merlin while remaining seated.

“Umm, when you asked?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes under a wrinkled brow.

“Indeed.” Arthur relaxed, letting his features smooth and his shoulders slump slightly as he sighed and shook his head at his manservant. “You will go to your quarters and tell Gaius I wish to see him. _Then_ you will get some sleep. This does not mean continue with any unfinished duties,” the prince admonished, “- no mucking stalls, no dealing with my laundry, no mending my armour- nor does it mean aiding Gaius and I will assure he knows this. You are to go to your chambers and _sleep_. And don’t think I won’t check with Gaius.” Internally, Arthur smiled smugly, he was fairly certain he’d covered what ‘go to bed’ meant this time, so he wouldn’t have any surprise visits from a still working Merlin. “Now, go fetch Gaius.”

Merlin looked almost hurt, but Arthur knew this had to be done. He needed his Merlin back, and until they had dealt with whatever enchantment was assailing Merlin he wouldn’t risk losing more of him to this debilitating exhaustion.

A soft, “Yes, Sire,” was Merlin’s only reply as he slowly retreated from the room.

\---

“I swear if I hear another ‘Sire’ from him I’ll have him in the stocks for _not_ being an insolent prat!”

“I’m sure he’s not doing it intentionally, Sire. He’s just been under a great deal of strain with this ailment.” Gaius spoke soothingly to the troubled prince.

“Yes, but are you any closer to breaking the enchantment, if it even is an enchantment.” Arthur stalked about his room trying not to gesticulate wildly at the healer as he spoke.

“Yes and no, Sire. It is most definitely an enchantment, however, I am no closer to understanding it or finding a way of breaking it,” the old man admitted sadly. He was beginning to fear for his young charge’s mental and physical stability, Merlin was having to fight every instinct in his being to not use his magic, and there was only so much his body and mind could take before breaking under the exertion of fighting his very nature.

Arthur paced back and forth, finally stopping at the large window next to his bed. He seemed to gaze aimlessly for a few moments causing Gaius to prompt, “Sire?”

Arthur shook himself turning to face the old physician, “I want Merlin to rest; can you fix him one of Morgana’s sleeping draughts?”

“I can certainly try.”

The blond nodded, “He’s not to perform _any_ duties for _anyone_.” Arthur’s eyes flitted away for a moment. “I’ll come ‘round tomorrow to… see how things are coming.”

“Yes, Sire,” Gaius replied dutifully, barely containing the smile that threatened over Arthur’s protectiveness.

\---

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin when Gaius returned to their chambers. “Gaius!” He forced himself to breath. “What did Arthur want?”

“Calm down, Merlin,” the man instructed.

“But Arthur…”

“Just wanted to check on our progress,” he put a fatherly arm around the young sorcerer, “and make certain you rested as he ordered.”

Merlin’s eyes, rimmed with dark circles and traces of red, gazed plaintively at the older man as he sat down heavily, the weight of the situation seeming to transcend to a physical thing, “How can I rest when…” he threw his head down on the table where he sat.

Gaius ran soothing circles over Merlin’s back. “Arthur’s worried about you. I doubt he’s going to stray too far until he deems you well enough.”

“What’s it matter, Gaius? I can’t protect him anymore,” the desolation in Merlin’s voice was enough to break any man’s heart, let alone the old physician’s.

Sitting next to him, Gaius squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in the time you’ve been here it’s that no power, of man or mystical, will keep you from doing what you feel is right or from protecting Arthur.”

A half smile flitted across Merlin’s face, his eyes peeking up taking on a slight twinkle of hope at Gaius’ words. He wanted to believe that even if they couldn’t break the spell he was under that he could still protect and care for Arthur.

“Unfortunately,” Gaius continued, “both seem to hold equal amounts of danger, which you tend to run headlong into with a certain recklessness.” The smirk on his face and in his eyes quelled any sting his words may have held.

A soft chuckle rose from the dark haired young man as he finally raised his head. “What would I do without you, Gaius?”

“Probably lose your head,” he muttered as he stood making his way to a shelf of prepared potions. “Arthur wants me to prepare you a sleeping draught,” he continued before Merlin could get maudlin over his previous comment. “Will you take it or do I need to secret it into your food?”

Merlin shot his mentor an incredulous look, “Really, Gaius?”

“Your food then,” he answered frankly, plucking a vial from the shelf. He returned to Merlin who was still looking disbelievingly at the old man. “Drink it. Prince’s orders.” He lowered his head meaningfully, “And mine.”

Merlin reluctantly took the vial and downed it. “Happy?”

“Quite.” Gaius nodded, taking the vial back. “Now, you should get into bed unless you’re planning on sleeping here, which could make it difficult for me to get any work done. Off with you,” he shooed Merlin into his own chambers and closed the door, confident that for once Merlin would sleep.

\---

Arthur knocked on the physician’s door just as Gaius sat down to dinner.

“How is he?”

“Resting, m’ Lord,” Gaius gestured towards Merlin’s room and Arthur took it as a sign he was welcome to look in on his manservant.

Without hesitation the prince went to Merlin’s door, easing it open slowly, he peered inside. True to his word Merlin was asleep, though not terribly peacefully from the look of it. His dark hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat and he jerked too often for comfort. Slipping the door closed he turned to the healer, “Gaius?” He motioned to the door, “He doesn’t look well.”

The old physician moved with a speed one would not credit a man of his age to have, as he brushed passed Arthur and into Merlin’s room. He immediately went to his side, brushing hair from Merlin’s brow and laying a hand there to check for fever. He turned to Arthur, who looked more concerned than was befitting a noble over his ill servant, “Sire, would you fetch me the purple flask from the table?”

Arthur hastily retrieved the bottle, “What’s wrong? Is it the enchantment?”

“I don’t believe so, Sire. More likely that the sleeping draught allowed his body to succumb to the stress it was under.” Taking the flask, Gaius lifted Merlin’s head and placed the bottle to his lips encouraging him to swallow a few drops. “That should help the fever.” As Gaius stood to leave, he saw a pale looking prince staring from the doorway. Gently, Gaius placed a hand on Arthur’s arm guiding him out of the room. “He will be fine, Arthur. I expect the fever will break by morning. You’re welcome to check on him then.”

Arthur pulled himself together giving a nod and a thankful smile to the old man, before turning on his heels and leaving.

\---

The morning came slowly as Arthur tossed and turned, the soundness of sleep never truly reaching him, his thoughts constantly returning to his impertinent, brazen, and oh so infuriating manservant. Watching Merlin fall apart was having its own effect on the prince; cracking his stoic armour in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Thankfully, he’d devised a plan to end this. They would find the warlock who cursed his beloved manservant. Once Merlin no longer looked like living death, they were going on a hunt, at least, that’s what the king would be told. Nothing that required a large retinue or formal hunting party, merely a day out of the castle with whatever game they happened upon, and Arthur had every intention of happening upon a sorcerer.  
He moved through training with practiced ease, Merlin never far from his mind, but tucked away so as not to distract him in his combat. He’d forced himself to go through his morning routine without rushing like some fawning girl to Merlin’s side, so it was early afternoon when Arthur finally found himself rapping on Gaius’ open door.

“Arthur!” Merlin greeted excitedly. His face was still drawn and the dark circles still played beneath his eyes, but the sparkle was returning to his night blue orbs.

“Hmph, I tell you to rest and this is what you do?” The levity in his voice betraying his true feelings.

“Well, Gaius wouldn’t let me help him, so I thought I’d see what I could find out about whatever this is.”

“Merlin,” Arthur began as he moved to sit on a stool next to where his manservant was situated on the floor, a book in his lap and several others scattered around him, “I doubt there’s anything you can divine from those books that Gaius hasn’t already discovered.”

“I have to do _something_ , Arthur. I can’t just sit here all day.” The young man tried not to let the whine seep through his voice.

Arthur toed the book that lay in Merlin’s lap closed. “That is _precisely_ what you’re going to do.” Arthur stared into Merlin’s eyes, “Because tomorrow, we are going hunting.” The prince smiled his most wicked mischievous smile.

“Hunting?” Merlin asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Merlin, hunting. I do believe you’ve heard of the activity. These days it usually consists of me attempting to track the game _you_ scare away,” the blond teased without the usual menace in his voice.

Merlin’s brow wrinkled in confusion; this was one of the many times Merlin had to question Arthur’s sanity.

Arthur merely smiled, standing to leave his manservant to recuperate. “Just be ready to leave in the morning.”

Just as Arthur reached the door, the physician entered, almost colliding with the prince. “Forgive me, Sire,” he ducked his head apologetically. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, suspecting the prince was merely there to check on Merlin.

Arthur clapped Gaius on the shoulder, giving him the same mysterious smile he’d offered Merlin. “See that he sleeps. We have a long day ahead of us,” he instructed as he left.

Gaius turned his questioning gaze on Merlin, who shrugged.

“He wants to go hunting.”

“Hunting?”

\---

Early the next morning Merlin made his way towards Arthur’s chambers by way of the kitchens to pick up the prince’s breakfast.

“Ah, Merlin,” Arthur greeted his very confused manservant, “good, you’re here. Here take these,” he handed him several packed portion of food for their travels- dried meats, bread, and cheese- and packed more into the saddle bags he had with him; it was much more than would be needed on a simple two man hunt.

“Arthur, what is this?”

“Food, Merlin, I thought assuredly you’d know what that is.” Arthur made a show of looking Merlin over, “You sure you’re well enough for this?”

The young man smirked, “Yes, Sire.”

“Good, let’s go.”

When they reached the stables, two horses had already been saddled and bridled for them. Arthur tossed his saddle bags onto his horse securing them tightly, while Merlin commandeered a set of his own and filled their pockets with the food Arthur had given him.

Merlin took in the stables, the obvious lack of hunting gear, and what Merlin knew to be Arthur’s armour pack bundled and set on his horse, “Arthur, you want to tell me what we’re really doing?”

The blond continued to tend his horse. “We’re going to get answers.”

“Arthur?” Merlin’s tone was filled with worry.

“This enchantment has to be broken; nothing in Camelot has the ability to break it, so we go to the source.” He swallowed, fearing he’d let too much emotion slip through. “I can’t have my manservant falling apart and half killing himself. Morgana and Guinevere would never let me hear the end of it,” he added trying to cover himself.

Merlin smiled softly as he finished with his own horse.

No more than half an hour later they were riding out the gates of Camelot.

They rode in silence until they’d put some distance between themselves and Camelot. Arthur casting furtive, assessing glances at Merlin as they rode, assuring himself that his manservant was handling the journey.

Merlin himself was studying Arthur, trying to understand why he was doing this. He knew Arthur would and had risked his life for him before, but this felt different. Maybe it was because he felt helpless, unable to protect either of them, and not anything about Arthur at all, but he’d come to know his prince, read his moods and motives, and this he couldn’t understand.

Finally, Arthur let out a huff, “Out with it, Merlin.”

The young man jumped, ‘What?”

Laughing quietly, “Merlin, subtle you’re not. Your eyes have barely left me since we left Camelot, so what is it?” he encouraged.

Merlin sat a little straighter in his saddle, before asking simply, “Why?”

“Why, what?” he asked, then instructed, “And Merlin, in more than one word.”

“Why’re you doing this?”

“I told you.”

Merlin shook his head, lips taught, “No, you didn’t. Not the real reason, anyway.”

“Merlin,” annoyance and exasperation warred for dominance in his voice as he chastised himself for being so transparent to his manservant. “Just, shut up, will you,” he snapped and urged his horse ahead.

“You asked,” Merlin called.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled to himself, Arthur was so easily flustered. He hoped that one day Arthur would be able to admit that he cared for Merlin, maybe not as much as the young warlock cared for the prince, but Merlin had long ago accepted that friendship was all he could ever expect from his prince.

Up ahead, Arthur was cursing himself as five kinds of fool. He’d been dying to have his mouthy Merlin back and now that he was getting some of that infuriating, lovely cockiness, he’d told him to ‘shut up’! What in the name of Camelot had he been thinking? …he’d been thinking that Merlin had been getting too close to a real answer, and Arthur wasn’t at all sure he was ready to acknowledge out loud that he honestly _cared_ for his brazen manservant, even if what he was admitting was only a fraction of his true feelings. Still, if he wanted his Merlin, then he shouldn’t have told him to shut up the moment he showed himself. Arthur argued with himself over the best way to retrieve the situation, until his musings were interrupted by a decidedly unpleasant growling sound from his companion. It was only then that the prince realized it had been hours since they had left Camelot and Merlin most likely hadn’t eaten beforehand.

They rode on a bit further, until Arthur spotted a small clearing. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, trusting Merlin to follow suit.

“Why’re we stopping?” the young man asked once he was safely on the ground.

Arthur pulled two packets of food out of his bags. “You need to eat,” he announced simply, cringing at his overly protective words and hoping that Merlin hadn’t noticed.

Merlin said nothing as he smiled against his horse, stroking her mane. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today, smiling. More than he’d done in the weeks since they had returned from their encounter with the sorcerer. Being alone with Arthur had that effect on him.

The clearing held two convenient logs for them to sit on so as not to crowd each other. Something Arthur, at least, was very thankful for. He didn’t think he could be that close to Merlin right now.

Sitting on his log across from him, Arthur couldn’t help but watch Merlin as he ate. It seemed to him that Merlin was picking at his meats and cheese as if he had no appetite, which he knew from his still growling stomach his manservant did. Yet another item to give the prince cause to worry.  
“I’m sorry,” the prince blurted, surprising himself and Merlin.

The brunet’s head shot up, “Excuse me?” There was no way he’d heard those words from the prince.

Arthur closed his eyes and grit his teeth; trust Merlin not to make this easy for him- a prince did _not_ apologize to a serving boy, but he’d come this far, he might as well finish it- as much as a prince didn’t apologize, neither did he leave things half done. “I said, I’m sorry.”

Merlin looked at Arthur curiously, “For what?”

“For gods’ sakes, Merlin, can you at least pretend to make this easier on me!” The prince drew in a breath, “I’m sorry for telling you to shut up.” The words coming out with a forced calm.

Merlin blinked, then blinked again. “Uh… thank you,” he replied, his heart flipping a little at the unusual act of kindness.

They finished eating in silence, though Arthur took careful notice of how much Merlin ate, or didn’t as it were. He would need to find this wizard and fast before he lost Merlin to a worse state than he had been in two days before.

\---

The trip was slow, without Merlin’s constant chatter the time seemed to drag on. Arthur had been on plenty of hunts, long patrols, and campaigns where silence or at most, quiet conversation was the normal state, but being with Merlin and having that same quiet disturbed him. He’d gone so far as to try to invoke one of their verbal sparring matches or even one of Merlin’s ramblings; anything to hear even a hint of that normally vivacious voice. Nothing worked. At best, he got a word or two in response and as the day progressed even those few words got shorter and farther between.  
It was growing dark and though they had yet to reach even the halfway point of their journey, Arthur was exhausted. Spending his day worrying about Merlin, having snatches of him there then gone, was taking a greater toll than the trip itself. The roughness of the trip had Arthur idly wondering what would happen if this enchantment on Merlin continued or couldn’t be broken; what would happen if he fell prey to his own susceptibility when it came to the young man. If it came to that he knew his father would rid himself of Merlin at the first opportunity; he was ‘just a serving boy’ after all. The mere thought of being without Merlin infused the prince with yet more determination to stop this, whatever the cost. He wouldn’t lose Merlin, not now, not ever, he just couldn’t. It wasn’t a matter of want anymore, it was a matter of need; the two of them had become too close for that.  
Climbing down, Arthur led their horses off the track they had been following, looking for a suitable place to make camp for the night. It didn’t take him long to find a small grove of holly trees that would provide enough cover in these cooler days of autumn.  
“Merlin, set the fire,” Arthur directed without thought, mentally kicking himself for thinking he should have been kinder.

“Of course, Arthur.”

The prince allowed himself a small smile at the familiarity he’d grown to miss more than he’d thought possible; he really was getting tired of hearing ‘Sire’ pass Merlin’s lips. The smile faded quickly as he remembered earlier in the day and just how little food passed those lips. Gathering his crossbow and a set of quarrels, he told Merlin, “Get that fire going, I’ll see that we have something a bit more filling tonight.”

Arthur had turned and delved into the forest before Merlin had a chance to reply. Merlin never liked it when Arthur went off on his own, especially when the sky was darkening and they were in parts of the forest that neither knew that well. And now without his magic, Merlin was even more insecure about his prince’s safety. He tried to keep his ears trained on Arthur and the slightest sound. It was these occasions when Merlin wished he had Arthur’s gift for the hunt.  
In moments it was clear that no amount of straining would allow Merlin to keep up with Arthur. When he was hunting, Arthur became the hunt. Merlin may not enjoy hunting and he may have on the odd occasion or two seen fit to make enough noise to scare off any game for miles, but he loved to watch Arthur hunt, the prowess and cunning- much the same as he showed in battle, how he seemed to channel the very earth as if it were a part of him. In some ways Merlin thought perhaps this was Arthur’s own brand of magic, though he’d never say as much to the prince or within the hearing of the king.  
Forcing calm upon himself, Merlin laid and, after many futile attempts, started the fire. It was just settling into a constant flame when Arthur returned with a plump rabbit and matching pheasant.

Arthur was rather proud of the pheasant. He knew from previous hunts how much Merlin enjoyed game bird, and he knew as a servant he seldom had the opportunity to eat it. He smiled when he entered the clearing, seeing the fire alight and warm and Merlin still standing, quelling the fears that had been haunting his mind with memories of the last time he’d left Merlin to tend a fire. “Rabbit or pheasant?”

Merlin looked at Arthur curiously, a look that was becoming far too familiar to both of them on this journey.

“To prepare, I don’t intend on dressing them both myself.”

“Oh, uh,” his curious look turning to one of confusion over Arthur’s eagerness to help with anything, “the rabbit?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and tossed the animal towards his manservant, turning quickly to hide his smirk. Something about a confused Merlin eased his troubled mind.

\---

It had been several hours since they’d left camp, and they were almost on the area where they’d encountered the sorcerer weeks before. As they grew closer both men could feel the change in the air; for Merlin it was a slow hum of deep unchanneled power, while the quietness and calm set Arthur’s senses on edge. They rode on, horses slowed to a hesitant crawl, as they examined their surroundings, each in their own way.

The huge creature seemed to come from nowhere; simply appearing in the middle of the trail they were travelling. Its teeth were sharp, gleaming fangs, its body scaled and covered with moss. A noise like a sick gurgling hiss came from the beast, its tongue flicking around like some great pronged snake.

Arthur’s horse reared as the tongue lashed out towards it; the moment hooves hit the ground the prince was sliding out of his saddle, drawing his sword, and shouting at Merlin to “get back”.  
Arthur slashed at the creature’s tongue, nicking it causing a deep blue ichor to ooze from the wound and another gurgling hiss to scream from the creature. A large clawed paw swept at Arthur, his hunting clothes offering little protection against claws of this size. Arthur’s movements were smooth and fluid, he was in his element, a warrior. His sword crashed against a swiping claw deflecting its strike just enough for it to be painful and not deadly, stunning him momentarily.

Behind them, Merlin crouched by a tree, waiting for the right time to offer his kind of help. He knew he’d only get one chance so he’d have to make it count. Once he cast his spell, he’d fall into that terrible pit of darkness, but Arthur was the one thing he knew without doubt was worth it, the one thing he’d die for.  
Merlin watched as the creature continued clawing at Arthur and Arthur deftly dodged each blow.

Arthur’s mind raced noting the method and form of each attack; he couldn’t dodge the creature forever, eventually one of them would have to break the cycle. After one powerful attack, Arthur made his move, lunging towards the creature’s vulnerable underside, only to be hit by a powerful clawed back foot that sent him sprawling to the ground, head shaken and sword just out of reach.

Another huge claw came crashing down towards the prince, still stunned from the last attack and scrabbling for his sword. “Arthur!” Merlin screamed, slipping from behind the tree; his magic already pooling, power preparing to surge from him as his arm rose preparing to direct his magic.

The blond covered his head in expectation of the attack, but before it could come he felt the air move violently as the beast was hurled back as if struck by a mighty fist. Arthur looked back in time to see a brilliant flash of gold and his eyes widened in horror as Merlin fell to the ground.

Riding on instinct Arthur rolled and stabbed at the creature’s belly, more ichor running from the wound as another horrid screech came from the enraged beast. It thrashed about wildly, trying to reach its attacker to no avail. Arthur began to feel his body thrum as if power were leaking into him, he cast a quick look at his crumpled manservant and attacked. Two more well placed stabs and the creature was falling, all fight leaving it. Arthur watched the ichor run until he was certain the creature was dead, then turned his attention back to Merlin.

At first Arthur was furious, glaring at Merlin’s prone body as if it was another monster to be slain. He growled, cursing the gods and Merlin in equal measure. And the feelings, the _magic_ he’d felt all those times before when Merlin slipped into this almost coma-like state wrapped themselves around him and this time he knew where it came from, he just didn’t understand why. The knowledge only fuelled his anger as he yelled at Merlin’s inert form. “You inexcusable arse! A wizard! All this time! You…” Arthur raised his hand in a fist as if the threat of pounding Merlin physically into the dirt would make him feel better, it didn’t, and the pained look on Merlin’s unconscious face served only to bring all of his protective instincts to the fore. As much as it hurt him, he still would not allow any harm to befall his servant. Merlin was Merlin. “Why?” he muttered softly.  
He walked around Merlin’s body several times, examining it for any signs of… what, he didn’t know; simply convincing himself that this was indeed his Merlin before him. The magic he felt swirling around them, now so obviously coming from his servant, was as warm and comforting as it had been weeks before and deep inside himself Arthur didn’t want to fight it; it was peace, it was a hidden emotion he still refused to name, it was Merlin. Finally, Arthur fell more than sat on the ground in front of the brunet. “You stupid fool,” he admonished as he reached a gloved hand to stroke Merlin’s dark hair.

\---

Merlin fought against the warmth, trying to force himself further into the darkness that consumed him. Arthur knew, he had seen the magic flare around him, seen the golden glow of his eyes as the magic was released and Merlin had seen the look of horror on Arthur’s face just before he was engulfed in darkness. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t bear Arthur’s fear and hatred. This nothing was decidedly better than that.

\---

Once Arthur had calmed, he found a suitable place to make camp, then spent the rest of the evening on until deep in the night trying to decide what should be done with Merlin. No matter what he told himself, or how much his father’s words echoed in his skull, he couldn’t bring himself to hate or despise Merlin, nor see any harm come to him. Merlin with all his faults _and_ his magic- and that was going to take some time to get used to- was his.

Arthur didn’t want to wake the next morning, a rarity for him, well, the reasons were a rarity. He’d fallen asleep next to his manservant, his fingers twined in the young man’s dark hair, and he wanted to drift where he was in-between waking and dreams. Here he didn’t have to worry about his father bearing down on Merlin, uttering the sentence that he’d heard too often, and being powerless to do anything about it. He shivered bodily, he didn’t want that fate for Merlin, he couldn’t bear it.  
Beyond all thoughts of Camelot and his father, a nagging unease worked at Arthur’s mind. It took several moments to realize what was wrong. Merlin. Normally, if you could call anything they’d gone through these weeks ‘normal’, Merlin would have come out of his stupor with the pull of the magic Arthur felt against him. Arthur had put that much together, the magic, the pull, and Merlin’s return to consciousness. It was as if Merlin was using Arthur to pull himself from his unconsciousness. But this time the pull hadn’t been a pull at all, just a feeling as warm and safe as any other time, but it wasn’t driving him towards his manservant. Arthur’s eyes snapped open as a new fear suffused him. If that was how this magic worked, then why hadn’t Merlin come back, why hadn’t there been any pull?  
“Merlin!” he snapped, hoping he was wrong and his manservant was simply sleeping deeply, even though he knew the shallow breaths were not those of sleep.  
Arthur fought back the uncontrollable dread that threatened, if he could face down the monsters and sorcerers and armies he had so far in his life then he could face this down. He drew in a deep breath calming his racing mind. If Merlin could use the magic swirling around them to reach for Arthur then maybe Arthur could use it to pull Merlin to him. The idea of playing with magic held such deep-rooted fear for him almost as strong as his fear of losing Merlin, but if it meant keeping the insufferable dolt, he’d use it. He let his mind swarm around the magic he sensed, letting it weave through him. He tried to follow it, find its source. As he got closer to the source he could feel something buried in the darkness, a power thrumming heavily and it was **strong** , more powerful than Arthur could’ve imagined. It should have terrified him, this entire situation should have terrified him, but it was _Merlin_ and he could never be truly terrified of someone he cared so much for. He tried to remember the feelings from when the magic wrapped around him, remember the warmth that slowly engulfed him, and tried to imagine doing the same to Merlin. If the young man couldn’t or wouldn’t fight his way back out of whatever was happening then he’d do it for him!

Arthur. The realization stunned Merlin. Arthur was there, right there, not a distant comfort, but _here_ with him in the darkness. He didn’t know how or _why_ and tried to squirrel away, move inside himself further. He didn’t want Arthur to find him. He fought the warmth, fought the caring and comfort and _love_ he felt try to hold him, wrap him in its invasive grasp. He was afraid.  
He felt more than heard Arthur’s, “Merlin, please,” echo through him, the words full of concern and safety. Safety was something he’d always felt with Arthur, but it was something he knew he’d lost the moment he cast that spell. Merlin couldn’t imagine any way that Arthur would care about him after this, not with all of the hatred his father had instilled him with. Yet, somehow he felt safe, even now.  
It was almost instinctual, the way his mind grabbed onto Arthur’s and followed him back into reality. That as much as anything else these past few weeks scared him. But something primal, the same thing that reached for Arthur the first time the sorcerer’s enchantment struck, reached out for, demanded Arthur now.

Merlin gasped, gulping in air the way a drowning man would once he’d been drug to the shore. A hand settled on his back, a gentle constant pressure. “Merlin? Merlin,” the name some sort of mantra in the distance. After several more gasping breaths, Merlin’s vision began to clear and he could make out the dark blues and leather browns of Arthur’s clothes, “Arthur?!”

The blond smiled at the tinge of confusion in Merlin’s voice. “Hush, get your breath.” He didn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s back; he liked feeling Merlin and knowing he was here, safe- at least for the moment.

Once Merlin’s breath was no longer coming in ragged pants, he focused on the blond beside him. “Why?” he asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “We’re not starting that again. Full sentences, Merlin, I know you can make them,” he chastised playfully, giving some familiarity to what was sure to be an unnerving conversation.

Merlin sat next to Arthur, knees pulled to his chest, “Why’d you do that? Couldn’t you have just left me there?”

“What?” he snapped indignantly.

“I thought we weren’t doing that,” Merlin replied, a piece of his normally irreverent self coming through in spite of the situation.

Arthur glowered. “Why would I leave you like that? I’ve come out here to find the wizard that did this to you, or have you forgotten that?”

“But…” Merlin snapped his mouth shut. His shoulders slumped in utter confusion as he opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to say something, but kept thinking better of it. Finally, he tilted his head and looked straight at Arthur. “You saw me.”

Arthur nodded.

“So, why bother?”

Arthur stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows, “You really are a dunce sometimes, Merlin.”

“I just…”

The brunet didn’t have the chance to finish his thought as Arthur turned slightly, grabbing Merlin’s shoulder and pulling him down to him. Arthur shook his head, “Idiot,” he said fondly, wrapping his hand around Merlin’s neck pulling him in for a kiss.

\------

“This is never going to work,” Merlin told Arthur for the hundredth time that morning.

“It _will_ work, Merlin. It worked this morning didn’t it?”

“That was starting a fire, not a binding,” Merlin countered.

“Have some faith, Merlin, you’re usually good at that,” Arthur teased.

“Yes, but that’s usually when it comes to keeping a certain prat from getting himself killed. If you haven’t noticed the circumstances have changed ever so slightly,” he shot back.

Arthur laughed, he was in Heaven! Merlin was being Merlin again, they had a plan to capture the sorcerer, and Merlin was _his_ and knew it. All in all, it was a very good morning, impending fight notwithstanding.

Their morning had been spent in a haze of tangled kisses and magic, testing the bond Merlin seemed to create every time he fell under the sorcerer’s curse. Now Arthur was certain of two things, foremost, that they could trap the wizard, and secondly, that it was entirely possible to have the breath kissed from you, even if you were the Crown Prince of Camelot.

The closer they came to the site of the attack weeks ago, the higher Arthur’s senses rose on alert. He had no plans of being taken by surprise by the sorcerer or his friends.

Merlin followed Arthur’s lead, their conversation having slowly dwindled as they approached until an alert silence fell between them.

Arthur pulled up short, raising fingers to lips in a hushing motion. He listened, his hunter’s instinct focusing in on the sounds of his prey. Climbing silently from his horse he indicated for Merlin to follow. Sword drawn, Arthur followed some shallow sound that Merlin could never hope to hear off the trail and into the dense layers of trees and brush.  
He stopped at the edge of a large rock jutting out from the ground, peering around it surreptitiously. It didn’t take someone with Arthur’s training to hear the sounds from the other side of the rock.

Merlin tread softly, or as softly as he could, breaking as few twigs as possible as he sidled up next to the prince and chanced a look at the man and his camp. “Is that him?” he whispered to Arthur.

The blond nodded; mild annoyance flashing through him, before he realized that Merlin had most likely never seen his attacker at least not this closely. “Stay here. You know what to do.”

Merlin’s lips thinned and his jaw set and he nodded curtly to Arthur, resisting the urge to tell him to be careful.

Arthur circled around the small camp, making certain there would be no unexpected guests and that the sorcerer was alone. The man was just as Arthur remembered dark and malevolent; the calm way he moved about his camp putting him in mind of an adder lazily slithering its way across a newly furrowed field. Arthur waited; he wanted his prey to believe this encounter was on his terms. He moved through the brush allowing leaves to crunch more than he would have even on his worst day, but he wanted to be certain the sorcerer heard his approach. Soon the dark man fell into his trap.

“Once you were a threat, Pendragon,” he taunted, stoking his fire, still facing away from Arthur, “but that changes now that you no longer have your sorcerer,” the disgusted sneer could be heard in the dark man’s voice.

Arthur came out of the brush, stalking his way towards the man. “You think I need anyone, let alone a warlock, to take care of you?”

Deep resounding laughter echoed through the forest grove, “You misunderstand me, boy. It no longer matters what becomes of me,” he snarled standing now to face Arthur. “I will be an unsung hero to those who come after me; I have freed the future from the union of wizard and warrior,” he boasted smugly, meeting the blond a few feet away.

Arthur smiled a predatory smile, eyes focused, a slight upward quirk to his lips, white teeth peeking out hungrily. He didn’t bother rising to the sorcerer’s words, he was focusing on killing the thing in front of him. He circled the dark man, sword twisting in lazy, confident circles in his hand; putting all thoughts of Merlin and what he’d done to him, what he’d tried to make Arthur do to him out of his mind- the need for vengeance clouded even the greatest warrior’s mind.  
“Merlin!”

At the signal the young warlock peered from behind the rock he’d been concealed behind, “ _Gefeterian galdorcræftiga gefeterian galdorléoþ_ ,” spilling from his mouth.

The sorcerer laughed as an invisible field held him fast, “Do you really think a bond like this will hold while its caster is locked far into his own mind?”

Arthur smiled, “I believe in its caster.”  
Over his shoulder he called, “Merlin?” There was a moment of silence then a gentle pull against Arthur’s mind.

“I have him,” Merlin’s voice came closer, until he was standing beside Arthur, jaw set and eyes unwavering.

“How?” the sorcerer demanded, “You couldn’t have broken the enchantment, I would have felt it.”

“There are other ways to counteract a curse,” Merlin’s eyes burnt and he shook slightly, the strain of keeping the binding spell active and not succumbing to the wizard’s spell beginning to take its toll.

The sorcerer’s eyes shot open, he looked between the two men. “No. No, I stopped it. I _broke_ you.” He began to struggle against the binding spell. “No!”

Arthur grabbed a handful of the wizard’s robe, holding him fast, his sword raised, tip pushing gently against the man’s skin having already pierced through layers of fabric. He twisted the sword slightly, demanding, “Break… the enchantment… **now** ,” through clenched teeth.

The sorcerer had enough sense to turn several shades of white before finally settling on a colour that would have put the purest first snow to shame. He gulped, “You’ll have to unbind me.”

Arthur sneered at the sorcerer at his mercy. “Merlin?”

The young warlock understood Arthur’s question without explanation, “Arthur, I don’t know about this, if I release him,” he shook his head warily.

“Do it Merlin!”

“Ic uncnyttaþ galdorwordes,” Merlin’s eyes burned golden for a moment and he swayed, mentally holding on to Arthur using whatever this connection he’d accidentally formed with him was to keep him here and conscious.

The sorcerer sagged, then muttered a few words Arthur couldn’t understand, but Merlin staggered back holding his head.

His head throbbed with energy and Merlin had to fight to stay awake as the pulse of magic roared through him. He lost his grip on the binding spell as his world suddenly returned to normal with a mental crash.

Arthur’s eyes were momentarily drawn from the sorcerer, but it was enough time for the wizard to act.

The dark man wasted no time, drawing his arm back and slamming into Arthur’s face with his forearm and knocking the prince away. He drew a sword from his robes and lunged at Arthur.

Two things happened at that point. Arthur raised his sword to block any attack that came and Merlin called forth a ball of pure energy, hurling it at the sorcerer.

Before the sorcerer could get within striking distance of the blond, Merlin’s spell hit him, sending him flying back into a tree with a solid bone crunching thud.

Arthur regained his footing and attempted to stand between the two sorcerers.

The dark conjurer struggled to his feet, murderous fire burning in his eyes. His lips moved almost silently as he raised his short sword then moved with preternatural speed to attack the prince.

Arthur deftly deflected the blow, following the momentum full circle to strike the wizard’s abdomen. Shocked dark eyes stared into Arthur’s crystal blue ones as Arthur pulled his sword from the man’s flesh, blood marring the silvered blade.

The man collapsed at Arthur’s feet, his unfocused eyes stared off, unseeing, and his breath slowed to a shallow wet gurgle then stopped completely.

Arthur’s shoulders sagged, the taut strain they’d held while fighting ebbing away. A quiet calm cloaking the scene as tensions were released and an enemy thwarted.

Merlin came up behind Arthur, a hand resting on his shoulder, “Arthur?”

The blond breathed a great sigh of relief, “Merlin.” Then turned around without missing a beat and clapped the young wizard on the back, “Come on, we leave now, we can make it back to Camelot by tomorrow.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and rolling his eyes playfully, “Yes, Arthur,” as he followed the Great Prat back to their horses.

\---

It was early dusk when they pulled up to the small space, barely deserving the title ‘clearing’, but Arthur guided his horse to a stop and dismounted. Merlin watched; a small, almost mischievous smile on his face as his eyes darted furtively to Arthur and away again. He recognized this place, how could he not, and he knew a hunter and warrior like Arthur undoubtedly recognized it, too. To his great credit Merlin didn’t comment, simply dismounting. It was a small, almost circular area with only the cool earth to sit on, the charred ground where a fire had once lay the one noticeable difference in the earth. They were surrounded by trees and brush on all sides, tucked away from any prying eyes or simple travellers. One tree stood out from the others, almost a headpiece to the small clearing, a massive and ancient elm, the earth at its feet eroded on one side creating a large hollow that faced the fire. Merlin smiled softly letting the warmth of this place flow through him, he knew that even if Arthur didn’t feel it in the same ingrained way that he did, Arthur still felt the strength here. Arthur had his own ways of sensing things, ways that would never be called ‘magic’, but held the same primal weight; Merlin’s smile grew wider at the knowledge, it comforted him that Arthur would listen to that sense.  
Still smiling, Merlin set about gathering branches and underbrush he could use to set the fire. Arthur had disappeared without a word, presumably off to catch something a little fresher than what remained in their packs for dinner.

They hadn’t spoken of the morning’s other activities and in part Merlin was glad for that, he would have worried if Arthur had suddenly felt the need to sweep him into his arms like some blushing damsel, he much preferred carrying on as they always had with the added benefit of stolen kisses and passionate embraces. On the other hand he wished Arthur would say or do _something_ , anything that would indicated that he wasn’t having second thoughts, wasn’t becoming terrified of the sorcerer he now knew Merlin to be, just something.

Arthur returned with two plump birds and as he had two evenings before helped prepare them for the fire. That one act was all that gave way to Arthur’s emotions. They talked the way they always did, taunting each other with insults and jabs, discussing Gaius’ latest potions and Arthur’s ideas for new training techniques. It was calm and familiar and completely exasperating!

As the fire died down and Merlin began banking it for the evening, Arthur, silently went to his horse and pulled something from his saddle bags. Merlin watched entranced as huge handfuls of bright red fabric emerged from Arthur’s bag. Arthur turned to him and wordlessly laid the material along the inside hollow of the old tree. Returning to their horses, he gathered the few blankets they had brought, folding and contorting them into serviceable pillows.  
Making himself comfortable, Arthur lay on his side pointing to Merlin, “You,” pointing to the space beside him, “here,” he looked back up at Merlin true warmth in his blue eyes, “now.”

The smile that Arthur loved split across Merlin’s face, bright as sunshine in the darkness of the forest, as the young man scrambled to his feet to join his prince beneath the tree.

“Such a girl,” Arthur chuckled as Merlin tucked himself in next to Arthur.

“You love it,” Merlin quipped, stealing a quick kiss.

Arthur trailed a finger down Merlin’s face. His relief at having Merlin healthy and with him tempered by the knowledge that every day he stayed in his father’s court he would be on the verge of death. The thought gave him pause, but the protective, possessive surge that followed assured him that he would protect Merlin to the death, even against his father. He looked down at his smiling manservant, “I think, I love you,” he admitted softly, before lowering his lips to Merlin’s.

Unlike that morning their kisses were slow languid things that made time stretch and disappear all at once; the need for air the only thing that came between them for long minutes, hours even.

Eventually, Merlin broke sleepily away from Arthur’s sweet, warm mouth, unable to stifle a yawn.

“Sleep,” Arthur instructed kindly.

Merlin yawned again and nodded, burying himself deeper against his prince, exhausted and feeling truly safe for probably the first time in his life. Hazily, mind clouded with love and kisses, he whispered, “Goodnight, Arthur.”

Arthur smiled into Merlin’s dark unruly hair as he said the words he’d so often said to a closed, silent door, “’night, Merlin, sleep well.”  
With Merlin tucked safely and warmly against his chest, wrapped in the roaring fires of Pendragon Red, in the lee of a great elm, Arthur drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> *********  
> Note: “living death” is not a misspelling; it is a real term from the late 1500’s
> 
> (Literal) Translations that I HOPE I got right, lol (I had hard enough time with cases and declinations and conjugations when I took Latin, come to think of it, I think my eyes crossed in pretty much the same way then, too :P ):  
> Gefeterian galdorcræftiga, gefeterian galdorléoþ  
> Bind the sorcerer, bind the magic.  
> Ic uncnytte galdorworde  
> I unbind the magic.


End file.
